Poets inspire each other. Sometimes it’s a poem…sometimes it’s a phrase…and sometimes it’s a word like breadcrumbs. Curiosity gets me to write. Where do “breadcrumbs” lead you”. Thanks to Poetry Channel for the inspiration.

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Good morning my daddy. On the anniversary of your death, I write this to you in honor of the poem we got to write together. I remember how excited I was about finding a way we could talk and share more intimately through a mode you loved best. I couldn’t wait to write more poems with you. Later that week, you had your stroke.

I remember when you were just a vault…no affection…little talking…always about you.

I remember the first time I asked you if you could do the Father’s Legacy project. You were apprehensive, but you said, “I could probably do that.”

I remember asking the first question and held my breath for the answer. It was a simple question like “What is your favorite color?” You answered two questions that day.

I remember when you would peak over my shoulder to make sure the questions I asked were in the book. We were building trust.

I remember the first time you were vulnerable and told me your angel story. This time you held your breath, until I said, “I believe in angels too Daddy.” I felt your sigh of relief as your story, held in for about sixty years, was believed for the first time.

I remember coming to visit you in the summers as you told me about all the junk in your junkyard and learning why they were your treasures and realizing you were an artist like me.

I remember our last summer together savoring every detail….getting lost with you and loving every minute. Our last Father’s day, making it special with a sheet for a table cloth and wild sunflowers from your backyard. It was so special that I will always remember it, but you couldn’t remember it the next day.

Poets inspire each other. Sometimes it’s a poem…sometimes it’s a phrase…and sometimes it’s a word like breadcrumbs. Curiosity gets me to write. Where do “breadcrumbs” lead you? Thanks to Poetry Channel for the inspiration.

I’ve have been honored and blessed to get to spend time with my daddy in his last days. The community I work with has surrounded me with love and have stepped in to help with my students as I go through this process. It’s something I never thought I wanted to witness. But my daughter taught me, that while it’s painful to see a loved one aging and dying, it is also a blessing. Through watching her go through it, I am reminded that I still get to make memories; I still get to laugh and celebrate many moments.

Remember when your children were little, and you couldn’t wait to clap and cheer as they made their first steps, or ate their first solid food, or spoke for the first time? You and your spouse argue whether they said “mama” or “daddy” first? It’s like that. Each day we celebrate new things that we used to take for granted.

A good day for daddy this week was when he assisted with his getting in and out of bed. He had the energy, AND, most importantly he had a smile. He flirts with all the nurses. They ask for hugs and kisses, and he gives them back. That’s a celebration because he’s been sleeping so much and been so weak, he has hardly been able to hold his attention on anything.

Other celebrations, being able to feed yourself, being able to dance with your wheelchair to the beat of the music (even if it’s only rocking the chair back and forth. walking up and down the hail by scooting your wheelchair with your feet.

And music…music really is something that is appreciated by the elderly. They remember. They do! Sometimes it’s a finger tap or a toe tap…and sometimes, it’s a tear. But there’s a moment of remembrance…and those gray eyes twinkle for a moment. And even you are brought back to a moment in time…for me, it was this summer, getting lost with daddy in the car, when a four hour round trip became an eight hour round trip. We were headed for the coast…and got lost instead. I can’t ever remember being lost as so blissful…but it was just me and my daddy time…and it was perfect. We talked about just every day stuff…and it was good. Music can do that for you.

We’ve also gotten a chance to go for walks and see and hear the birds here. I saw my first red bird outside my daddy’s window this past winter. I remember he scooted his wheelchair with his feet to get a chance to see that bird…and though he couldn’t talk, his lips moved, and he “tweeted” again…which also reminded me of the summer which I wrote about before…they’re beautiful to listen to…their song like no other. Maybe I just hear things differently. I know that I see and feel things differently. I am blessed to make these memories with my daddy now…even though it’s a frail, broken body, ready for rest…there are still moments of beauty in our lives still waiting to be grasped. What is waiting for you?

As you know, I’ve been writing about my daddy and how I had been developing a relationship with this vaulted man, and I began writing his story. All the while, making daily phone calls, having to get through not only the emotional vault, but the dreaded disease of Alzheimer’s and its effects of fear of people trying to harm him and steal from him. I took whatever morsels I could get because I knew a little of my dad was better than what many people get, and it was a legacy of stories for my kids and grandkids.

In October, I sent my dad an excerpt from the book so I could see if I was hitting the mark, capturing his story the way he wanted it to be told. When I received the phone call, I could hardly wait to get feedback to see if I had hit the mark and know where to take the story next. But I also braced myself for if he hated it.

“Hello dad, how are you?” I said holding my breath. His first words were strong and harsh, “Shame on you.” My heart sunk. Wow. I had not expected that. ‘What had I said? What was so wrong? ” He replied, “You made me cry.” I heaved a huge sigh of audible relief. I really wanted to get his story right. He also told me that I had written it as if I were there. This is my first time writing ANYONE’S story, so it was scary…even scarier because it was my dad. He told me he was very proud of me..and that he was looking forward to reading more of my story. The next day, my dad had a stroke. He couldn’t talk well at all. The left side of his face was sagging, so his speech was slurred. My heart crushed again…because my dad’s story book was closing…and I would no longer have access to it. Within a few days, my dad could not talk at all. We think he had several more mini strokes..because it was odd we couldn’t hear some except some basic whispers of basic conversatioins.

So now, three months later, my dad still can’t talk. It’s so very sad…and very difficult to watch. He knows what is being said all around him, but he can’t communicate his basic needs, nor can he communicate his feelings. He can no longer write…and even the simpliest communication boards don’t serve him well.

The silver lining is that each day he loses something, and I am more grateful for what I was able to hold onto the day before…which reminds me to just be as present as possible today.

As I go through this process, a million thoughts are writing across my brain. I feel them…I try to grasp them…but I am clumsy. However, I KNOW the power of words..and I KNOW they will heal…and I trust that my dad and I still have a few adventures left in us…I am optimistic. I am grateful. I am blessed.

Thank you dear God for the blessings, even in these tragic, heart breaking moments. Let us both find peace and beauty and yes, still some laughter. That’s what my daddy does best.